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Updated: June 2, 2025
He went over and over this line of travel, blazing his way until he felt entirely sure that he had picked out the best line of trail, and then one evening he called up Rifle-Eye and asked him if he would come over some time and show him how to build this little bridge.
"I reckon that's the wolf that's been givin' such a lot of trouble on the Arroyo," commented Rifle-Eye. "I went out after that wolf one day this spring, Ben, but I didn't get her. I waited at the den a long time, too." "Two holes out of den, two. I wait, too. Long, long time. No come out. Plug up one hole. Long more time waited. Then wolf go in. I go in, too."
"Which he's allers been a sort of Florence Nightingale of the Rockies, has old Rifle-Eye," was the reply. "I don't mean in looks but if a feller's shot up or hurt, or anythin' of that kind, it isn't long before the old hunter turns up, takes him to some shack near by and persuades somebody to look after him till he gets around again.
"Some logs are boiled and then revolved on a lathe which makes a continuous shaving the thickness of a match, and a lot of matches are paper-pulp, which is really wood after all. There's no saying, Rifle-Eye," he continued, laughing, "how many good trees have been cut down to make a light for your pipe." The old hunter puffed hard, as the pipe was not well lighted.
But I rode the greater part of the day with the old hunter, and long before he reached the place where the man was who needed me, all my objections had vanished and I was eager to begin." "That's just the way that Rifle-Eye does," said the boy, "he makes it seem that what he wants you to do is just what you want to do yourself."
He was wakened by a heavy hand being put upon his shoulder, and rousing himself with a start, he found the grave, kindly eyes of the old Ranger gleaming on him in the moonlight. "Sleeping, son?" queried the old mountaineer. "Yes, Rifle-Eye, I guess I must have been," said the lad, "just dozed off. I'm dog-tired. I've been on that fire all afternoon." The Ranger looked at him keenly.
"What is your name and address?" blustered the professor; "I'll have the law invoked for this." "There's few in the Rockies as don't know old Rifle-Eye Bill," the Ranger replied, "an' my address is wherever I c'n find some good to be done. Any one c'n find me when I'm wanted, an' I'm ready any time you say.
Merritt," said the boy, "I was just wondering who it might be." "The fire's over there," said the Supervisor. "What are you doing here?" "Rifle-Eye sent me to get the men at Pete's mine," he said. "They're here," replied the Forest Chief. "How's the fire?" "Bad," said the boy. "Rifle-Eye said he thought we would have to fall back beyond the river."
Lucky," added Bob-Cat with a grin, "it was a flat roof." "Fifty years is a long time," commented the boy. "Old Rifle-Eye ain't any spring chicken. He shouldered a musket in the Civil War, an' durin' the Indian mix-ups was generally found floatin' around wherever the fun was thickest.
"I reckon, son," he said, "there's somethin' you're forgettin'." "What's that?" said Wilbur. "Horses come first," said Rifle-Eye. "It's nigh dinner-time now. Where's the corral?" But Wilbur's spirits were not to be dampened by any check. "Is there a corral?" he said. "How bully! Oh, yes, I remember now Mr. Merritt said there was. Where is it, Rifle-Eye? Say, this is a jim-dandy of a camp!"
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